


Signal and Noise

by azaEnolate



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Gen, Metafiction, Mute-centric, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, actually just first work in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:15:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azaEnolate/pseuds/azaEnolate
Summary: While at the Stadium, Mute learns a few things about the Program.
Relationships: up to reader interpretation
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Signal and Noise

It had been a week since they had moved from Hereford.

Harry had proposed the transition as a way for the operators to be more in touch with each other: to work, live, and train in the same facility to build a camaraderie between the operators. He believed in this grand and noble ideal, one was a hallmark for armies of civilizations past. Like the Spartans of ancient Greece: weak alone, strong together. Comrades, equals, _homoioi_.

At least, that was what the email said. Mute hadn’t noticed a difference. Sure, there was a bit of awkwardness at first, getting used to the new facilities and dorms. It would be a while before anyone forgot about the time Thermite nearly destroyed the R&D facility his first day there — which had taken incredibly little time, amazing what you can do with some C4. But the status quo reinstated itself after a few days, and everyone fell back into their usual social groups. 

Mute pulled out his phone on his way to the cafeteria, the screen displaying in clean sans serif that he had a new notification. He opened it, seeing that he had received an email from R&D.

* * *

From: Elena María Álvarez

To: Ryad Ramírez Al-Hassar; Mike Baker; Dominic Brunsmeier; Mark R. Chandar; Gustave Kateb; Elias Kötz; Siu Mei Lin; James Porter; Vicente Souza; Marius Streicher

Hey all!

As agreed upon, operators selected will be testing the new SIM-SUIT’s for use in training and simulated combat as opposed to your normal practice rounds. 

I’d like to remind you all of a few features of the SIM-SUIT prior to the simulation. 

1) Headshots are always lethal, and friendly fire applies. So watch your aim! 

2) Operators have a limit to how much damage or contact you can receive, upon which they will be considered “eliminated”, and must remain immobile until notified to exit the map.

3) The SIM-SUIT itself provides no protection. While all munitions in the simulation are non-lethal, they still can, and will, hurt. Treat this as you normally would for regular training rounds.

4) If you experience any ill effects or odd interactions with gadgets while using the SIM-SUIT, please report it to me ASAP. 

I firmly believe these advancements will revolutionize and improve our current methods of combat training. By the way, Ash and Harry will be spectating today, so no funny business. James, Dominic, that means you.

E. Álvarez

* * *

Mute perused the email a few times. Mira asked him individually to participate, and had likely done the same for the rest. Looking over the recipient list, the final group seemed a bit odd in terms of synergy. Thatcher was included amongst gadget-heavy operators, not at all comforting. And as the email so tactfully implied, Smoke and Bandit in the same room was practically asking for things to get out of hand.

He arrived at the mess hall, grabbing the first dish he saw — no need to check what, they all tasted like cardboard — and went to sit with the other SAS members. They appeared to already be discussing something, before Smoke spotted Mute making his way over.

“Oh, there you are! Ready to give ol’ Maggie T over here a run for his money later?” He said, lightly elbowing the older operator in the side.

The silence from both Mute and Thatcher spoke volumes. “You lot are no fun.” He pouted.

“ _Anyways_ ,” Thatcher picked up the conversation as if Smoke never spoke. “Can’t say I’m a fan of this whole ‘Program’ nonsense if that’s how training will be conducted from now on.” 

Sledge pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aw, quit it with that Luddite shit, Mike,” he groaned. 

“Listen, she went on about how the exercises are all ‘softer lethality’ or something. If we aren’t working with the same level of risk as we would in the battlefield, then whatever practice we do won’t reflect that.”

Mute looked up at Thatcher in confusion. Thatcher did have a point, the damage buffer was implemented in part due to technological constraints, but also to incentivise them to “work harder for their kills” as Mira had put it. However, it seemed that Thatcher’s stubbornness had gotten the better of his reasoning.

“You do realize that we had the same problem with our previous training, right? If anything this is a step up from Porter unloading a full mag of paintballs into someone.”

Thatcher leaned back in his chair, thinking of some response to Mute’s question. “Nevermind,” he resigned, grumbling to himself.

“Could probably customize it to be more realistic, if you wanted the extra challenge” Mute mumbled between bites of food, “Not like you have any issue with being challenged.” he said with a smirk.

Smoke and Sledge lost it. Thatcher rarely got his ass handed to him in anything, but when he did, it felt good. Really good.

“ _Oh my god,_ he’s got you there, mate.” Smoke wiped a tear from his eye, ignoring the death glare he was getting from Thatcher. “Have you finally gone soft? Or is your teacher’s pet here getting the better of you?”

Mute grimaced. He was fully aware of his reputation in Rainbow whether he liked it or not; he hated the status that being one of the younger operators gave him. It wasn't anything mean-spirited, but it felt like he was constantly being reminded of his age. Although he had gotten used to the patronization over the years, it never stopped being a pet peeve of his.

Sledge, detecting Mute's discontent, changed the subject, "You all should get going, training starts soon and Mira'll have your head if you're a no-show."

Smoke checked the time on his phone, “Fuck, we’ve got ten ‘till she said to be there!” Sledge leaned back in his chair smugly, having been proved right, while the other three scrambled to make up for lost time. Mute and Thatcher abandoned their breakfast scraps and rushed to the locker room to change, while Smoke stopped to scarf down what food he had left. 

The three SAS members made it onto the field where the other operators were waiting. Thatcher had composed himself in the little time he had —the man commanded some level of respect wherever he went—, whereas Mute and Smoke were still catching their breath from sprinting over. Mira called for their attention after a quick headcount. The woman had dark circles around her eyes, likely a byproduct of the long hours and all-nighters she spent in R&D, bouncing around between gadget evaluations and working on the “the Program”. A few of the other operators had offered to help with the project, but Mira had turned them down every time, smiling and saying that “it’s going to be a surprise.”

  
  
“I’d like to thank you all for agreeing to assist me with this first iteration. I’m sure you all read the email, but as a reminder, you all should be wearing the SIM-SUITs I provided you with under your uniform.”

Smoke patted himself down, unsure if he remembered to put it on. Jager uttered a quiet “Oh, thank god”, likely having done the same.

“If you have been eliminated in one of the rounds, wait until you have been notified by the suit that you may exit the arena. From there, you can cheer your remaining teammates on from the sidelines.” 

Mira pointed over to the edge of the arena, where Ash and Harry were seated.

“Lastly, and this is incredibly important, in the case that something unexpected happens, specifically if something regarding your gadgets isn’t accounted for, feel free to tell me to stop the simulation at any time so it can be fixed. This is the main purpose for this trial run.”

Mute recalls the email, specifically the line about gadget incompatibility. “So, a field test, basically?” He murmured.

He thought to himself: _“My gadget and Baker’s could mess with the telemetry, while Brunsmeier and Souza are meant to test its response to external current and heat, respectively. The SIM-SUIT would likely have needed some modifications to recreate Kateb’s and Porter’s gadgets as well.”_ These interactions individually could easily have been tested in a lab — and likely have, rigorously. But in practice, where there's much more stimuli, there could be some unwanted effects.

“That’s right!” Mira picked up on Mute’s muttering, catching him off-guard. “This is also why I asked for all those device evaluations. In order for me to make simulation profiles for you all, I need to recreate a lot of your gadgets to be a tad less… _lethal_.”

Bandit threw up his arms in fake disappointment. Ying distanced herself a few paces away from him.

“But there might have been something that I missed in the design process, which is why you all will be my guinea pigs for today. So, any questions?” Mira prompted the audience. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she continued, “Alright then. You’ll be working in your usual teams for a bomb scenario. So, Blitz, Capitão, Jackal, Thatcher, and Ying will be attempting to defuse a bomb hidden in the structure behind me, while Bandit, Doc, Jäger, Mute, and Smoke will be defending it.” The group murmured amongst themselves, eager to begin. “I’ll give you a few minutes to prepare and strategize, if you need me, I’ll be with Ash and Harry.” 

Mute glanced over at the sidelines, watching the spectators: Harry sat up straight, observing the operators as they split into their groups, clearly eager to see how it would unfold. Ash sat unimpressed, almost scowling, as Mira walked over.  
  
“Wonder what went down between those two.” Mute commented. Smoke laughed dryly, “Oh you don’t want to know. It’s a total shit show.” Any further questions about it from Mute were interrupted by Bandit clearing his throat.

“If you two _lovebirds_ are finished,” He said, crossing his arms. “We’ve got a match to win.” And as if on cue, Mira’s voice came over the intercom: “Defenders, head to the map to set up. Attackers, you may begin planning.”

With that, they headed into the building to prepare for the incoming onslaught.

* * *

The first round was a disaster, Mute decided.

They had carefully positioned themselves near the bomb, ready to respond to any threat walking through the door, when the unmistakable blue arc of Thatcher’s EMP grenade swept through the room, and everything went dark. Now unimpeded by ADS’s, Ying and Capitão sprung into action: their Candelas and Smoke Grenades detonated, creating mass confusion amongst the defenders. As he tried to orient himself amidst the disarray of blinding lights and smoke, Mute figured Mira must be some sort of sadist for putting the two walking flashbangs on the same team. The site was immediately run over by the opposing team, with his efforts to fend them off doing little to stop the runaway train that is Blitz. It wasn’t even shooting fish in a barrel. They’d thrown a bomb in the barrel and watched the resounding fishy explosion from afar. 

After the dust settled, and victory was declared for the attackers, the defending team sat as they contemplated how badly they had just gotten steamrolled.

“So.” Jäger finally broke the silence. “That was, not ideal, to say the least.”

“Yeah,” Bandit replied solemnly. “We were completely caught by surprise.”

“How about we spit into groups for the next round?” Doc suggested. “One on site, and another roaming around the arena and radioing in if they see anyone. That way, we’ll know about threats beforehand and can prepare accordingly.”  
  
Mute thought for a second, “The simulation profiles put a limit on how fast we can move. Last round, it felt like Bandit and Jager were able to get around more easily, so-.”  
  
“Oh in that case!” Jager perked up, “We can be the roamers, while you three can sit on site. Plus, our devices take some time to deploy so we can focus on that rather than reinforcements.”  
  
“Now hold on!” Smoke countered, “Why are you deciding this for us? I don’t want to miss out on all the fun, and both Mute and I still have to put down our gadgets too.”

“Leaving Doc alone with the bomb is incredibly risky, James.” Jäger rebutted. “And your gadget doesn’t need the prep time; you just throw them out when you need them.”  
  
“Cranky your _fat arse_ can’t keep up, Smoke?” Bandit quipped, mocking him with an egregiously fake British accent.

“Aw, fuck off, mate.” Smoke joked back. “You can take those glorified car batteries of yours and shove them up your-”  
  
“It’s fine.” Mute interrupted. “I’ll stay on site with Kateb. But you should take Porter with you: area denial and whatnot.”

Bandit rolled his eyes. “Fine, we'll take him. It’s your fault if he locks us in a room with one of his miniature war crimes, though.”

“ _Oi!_ ” Smoke interjected. Mute ignored his annoyance at “being traded like cattle” and his claims that “my gas grenades are perfectly legal.” 

“It’s a deal, then.” Mute said with finality. 

The defenders rushed to set up the site for the second round. As planned, Jager and Bandit placed their devices and left to secure the rest of the building, with Smoke not far behind. The other two took their positions after they put up the last few reinforcements. Mute sat in the office by the door, and Doc occupied the target room. The faint hums of the signal disruptors and the chirps of Jager’s Magpies filled the patient silence as they waited.

Mira’s voice came loud and clear over the radio: “Op-for active, be ready for assault.”

Immediately, they heard the faint crash of breaking glass and a gunshot. Instinctively whipping his head to the source of the noise, Mute gritted his teeth, bracing himself.

Jäger radioed in: “Hah! Looks like we can tell Mira that the hit registration still works! Capitão is down.”

Mute was about to relax when suddenly a loud “Scheiße!” came in through the comms. The deafening crack of a well-placed shot shattered the air. 

“Jäger?” Doc asked. “Damn, he’s down. Someone go check that area out.”

“Roger that.” Smoke replied. “Heading over from dorms.” 

Mute could hear Smoke’s footsteps pass by the office as he made his way to the stairwell.

“Setting nest in place. Should hold them off from pushing through here.”

Mute, still in the office, peeked around the corner with his MP5K, waiting to see if any of the attacking team were brave, or stupid enough, to wait until the orange gas had dissipated. 

But soon after, the gunfire broke out at the end of the hall where Doc was. Mute ducked back inside the office. Bandit’s urgent voice came over the comms.

“Change of plans. They’re coming up the stairs near the master bedroom. I’ll try to hold them off but I need back-up.”

“Understood.” Doc responded, peeking through a hole in the wall in the target room. “Smoke, Mute, hold the office in case they decide to flank again.”

The shots continued, the hailstorm of bullets interspersed with the loud bang of Doc’s shotgun. Shouts and orders from both sides echoed through the rooms. Mute heard a few cries of pain amongst the noise, but didn't know who they belonged to.

Smoke radioed in, “Bandit, do you copy?” No response except the loud report of a semi-automatic gun.

Smoke tried again, “Doc? Are you there?”

The radio crackled as Doc spoke, his voice wheezing slightly in pain as if he had been punched in the gut. “I’m alright. I just got hit. Bandit and Ying are both down. I don’t know much else.”  
  
“Fuck me sideways, the cams are down too. I’m heading in to check for myself.” Smoke got up, taking a canister from his belt.  
  
“Wait, Smoke, I should come with you.” Mute insisted. “We have no intel in that room. We _need_ to play it safe.”  
  
Smoke shook his head. “Nah, I got this. I’ll be right back.” Mute had known him long enough to know he wasn't going to budge on this.  
  
Mute swore under his breath as he went back to his position by the rotation hole. He heard Smoke detonate the rest of his gas grenades, watching the amber gas fill the room. 

The comms came alive once again. “Alright, I’m in the bedroom with Bandit.” Smoke snickered to himself at the last remark. “Doc, are you able to get up?”

“Using stim pistol now. Anything on your end, Mute?”

Mute surveyed his surroundings. Right now, it was a 3v3, still an even match up. Smoke couldn’t use his gadget to deny the plant anymore, but they could still play for time. 

“Haven’t seen anything here.” He replied.

Mute bit the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. He needed to think like the attackers would. They appeared to be taking a more conservative approach, a stark contrast from the round prior. Then he realizes—the fake push on the stairs, getting Smoke to use his gas grenades early— the attackers must be trying to get them to waste their resources, running them dry and hitting them when they’re weak, or waiting for someone to get impatient and run out on them.

“Right, hold on. I hear them.” Smoke’s report interrupted his line of thought. “They’re at the bottom of the stairs.”  
  
A sudden chill went down Mute’s spine. This is exactly what the attackers must have wanted, to fight on their terms, and their terms only. Mute sat paralyzed. He needed to tell Smoke to stop, to turn back and rejoin the others on site. But he was holding himself back, and he didn’t know why. After a few seconds of deliberation, Mute swallowed back the bile and forced himself to speak.

“Smoke, wait-”

“Shit-” Smoke’s mic cut out to static, confirming his elimination. Too late.

Shouts emerged from the stairwell where Smoke had just been: orders to push forward. Mute could hear the metallic clunk of Blitz’s shield as they ran. His mind raced; they needed a new plan, and fast. 

Mute crawled into the target room. Doc stared at him, eyebrows furrowed as if to ask what he was doing here. Mute put a finger up to his mask. The message was clear: “Stay quiet, listen to me.” 

“They’ll try to push through the wall.” Mute enunciated, careful to make sure he was understood. “They still think they eliminated you in the fight earlier and that I’m the last one left. My jammer is there, so Thatcher will use one of his EMPs to clear it. You need to stay low; we cant let them know you’re still up, but hold the doorway next to me just in case.”

Doc nodded. Mute listened carefully through the wall, trying to pick out voices and gadgets amongst the background noise.

“Any read on your Eyenox?” The voice closest to him asked. Blitz’s accent came through.  
  
Mute could hear someone fumbling on the other side.

“No, I can’t see anything” 

So Jackal was here with Blitz, too.

“Well, that was a waste of time.” Thatcher. His cynicism was recognizable to practically anyone.

“No, I mean I can’t see _anything._ The Eyenox is jammed.”

So his disruptors worked on Jackal’s gadget? This hadn’t come up in testing. It wasn’t a remotely controlled device after all.

No matter. Jackal was practically blind. This was his opening. He needed to move before Thatcher decided to take the jammer out.

Mute took his C4 out of his pouch. With one smooth motion, he lobbed it at the wall. The steady beeping of the nitrocell counting by the time as it sailed through the air. Mute braced himself. He needed to use the explosion to distract them and catch them by surprise.

The explosive landed on the wall with a heavy thunk, its tone alerting the three attackers. 

“ _Mierda!_ C4! Get back!” Jackal shouted in a last ditch attempt. But Mute’s finger was already on the button.

In a shower of splinters and white smoke, the wall collapsed, sending Blitz and Jackal flying, either from being pushed by blast, or from jumping out of the way. Thatcher broke down the barricade, in an attempt to get the jump on the defenders in the room. But Mute was ready. He vaulted over the cover, and tackled Thatcher as he ran through the doorway. They both fell to the floor as Thatcher drew his knife.

Mute struggled against the attacker, fighting against the arm trying to stab him. Thatcher may have been the oldest out of all the SAS, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t strong. Mute had underestimated his strength and was paying the price. The other SAS member pushed back against him, the tip of his blade dangerously close to Mute’s neck. In a moment of vision, Mute unhooked one of Thatcher’s grenades from his belt. The EMP sent a wave of light over the pair. Thatcher dropped his knife, blinded by the sudden flash.

Mute reached for his holster, fingers fumbling on the trigger as Thatcher’s eyes adjusted. But before Thatcher could regain his advantage, Mute fired two shots into him, shutting him down for good. Mute got up off the ground, panting heavily from the scuffle. He signaled to Doc that the three were eliminated. 

Wait. If he had beaten them, why hadn’t Mira called the match? The defuser hadn’t been planted. Shouldn’t they have won? 

Mute’s eyes flicked over to where Doc was. The doctor’s eyes were wide with surprise, his white glove pointing right over Mute’s shoulder. Mute whipped his head around. Just in time to see a very much alive Blitz, and his shield swinging directly at his head.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have feedback or suggestions, I'd love to hear it!  
> Also if you want you can yell at me on Twitter @azaEnolate


End file.
